


endless

by yxxpa



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Angst, Betrayal, Character Study, Drama, F/M, Family Feels, Gen, Historical, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Self-Harm, Spans from Japan's childhood to the end of WW2, some things are irreparable
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-11
Updated: 2017-09-11
Packaged: 2018-12-26 09:12:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12055839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yxxpa/pseuds/yxxpa
Summary: 1945 - Power is everything, he thought, and so he would tread a path of destruction and carnage—anything—to get there.(But in the end, nothing will erase the pain he caused, and nothing will wash away the blood staining his hands.）





	endless

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I am beginning to crosspost my fan fictions from both of my accounts here. This is one of my favorites, simply because I love history and angst. Enjoy!  
> Also, I separated the prologue and chapter one. It was previously combined because of another reason.

**無限**

**endless**

* * *

かわいそうな人には必ず憎がるところがある。

The miserable must have a reason why they became what they are.

* * *

**Prologue**

Hollow, dark eyes stare into hollow dark eyes, listlessly observing.

Japan traces the cracks on the mirror with his finger, watching the gaps that cut through his bloodshot, tired eyes and pallid white face. The hastily wrapped bandages around his head are stained a dark, faded red from the dried blood of the bullet wound.

It happened at Okinawa, when America's bullet grazed his head during their confrontation.

All the blood and filth on his person barely unsettles Japan anymore, and a further glance shows that Japan's stomach wound is still not healed, the bandages an alarming red from the recently reopened wound. Japan's leg is no better, with how he is unable to stand without a spark of pain coursing through his body.

When did this mirror crack? Japan hasn't bothered to clean and repair his study yet, and it is still in disarray from the particularly nasty row with Korea a few weeks before, when the rambunctious nation left once and for all.

Good riddance...

That was what he thought earlier. Now...he'd prefer some company in this dead silence, even if it is just Korea's unintelligible rambling and laughter.

In truth, Japan does not know where Korea is. Perhaps he's back with the twin he always affectionately dubs "Cho". Or perhaps they've really reached the end of their brotherhood, which wouldn't be very surprising. Nations don't have siblings, you see, unless they're destined to be separated at some point.

Disregarding North Korea and whatever his southern neighbor may be up to, any remaining connection between Korea and Japan is pretty much gone.

They have no words left for each other now.

Japan exerts a little more pressure on his finger, pressing on the jagged glass unrelentlessly, until he feels the spasm of pain and sees the bead of crimson blood emerge before dripping onto the floor.

The bleeding cut disappears a second after.

No cut, no scar, nothing.

Nothing that would suggest a previous wound remains, as if Japan never cut his finger purposefully.

If only it would be so easy, Japan laughs. He naturally knows that no physical wound unrelated to his land and people would be able to remain on his body. It's the one benefit of being a nation.

Disappearing isn't that easy. Even self-harming, which he attempted once on a whim, proved to be relatively useless. The only remarkable change then was the momentary pain that quickly faded afterwards into nothing.

It proved itself to be a pointless experiment.

Japan wishes that the scar would remain. Something to satisfy himself, however pathetic and selfish wanting this is. So he'd be able to see evidence of punishment for his countless wrongs.

It's just like the times Japan incessantly washes his hands, not pausing even when they are red and irritated and wrinkled from the excessive rubbing. The blood may not be on his hands anymore, but it is still there. Invisible. Red.

Japan's done many less-than-glorious things in these recent years, and it's especially moments like this when they come back as vivid memories, haunting him with every step he takes.

Physical wounds may be healed, but for a nation, the psychological ones are not.

There are exceptions to the rule also. As long as the distress for land and people persists, these new wounds will not vanish. They often are minor annoyances which only grows into chronic pains as the days go by.

(Funny that these particular wounds were inflicted by the one who forced his way through Japan's doors and promptly named himself Japan's friend.)

Japan has seen what he needed from the Opium Wars. England...the alliance was signed with Japan's well-disguised distrust and mixed feelings, the sight of the blond hair and especially distinct eyebrows always bringing up memories of the man and China.

The two of them spent quite an amount of time smoking in the best meeting room in China's home, while the smaller children were left unattended to and afraid.

Japan had looked on back then with anger and unhappiness, feeling upset for China, yet remaining fixed in his haze of contempt for him.

Strange that you only realize your faults after everything ends. It's most likely because you haven't tasted defeat yet.

He always used the man who raised and educated him as an example of weakness, telling himself that he is better than the collapsing country that is China, that he would rise to glory. It became a mantra of sorts, which he used to push aside his doubts during the Boxer Rebellion.

Come to think of it, Japan has really done many things recently, huh?

He always wished fervently for power, to be what China once was. To not be oppressed like the others were by the Europeans. 'I'm different, and they'd be better off following me' was what he kept thinking.

What trouble in Asia isn't brought by the two-faced _gaijin_?

(Well, and himself.)

America truly unsettled Japan at first, with his over-intimacy and cheerful disposition. Plus the tendency to ignore what Japan says sometimes, covering up his words with America's own decisions.

Perhaps he's accustomed to being in control.

But Japan adjusted in order to converse well (and for his imminent rise to power), along with the gradual discarding of his kimonos for suits and western wear.

It worked, until he became unsatisfied with the western nations' obvious disregard of him. He'd made a step into the world stage, albeit a small and insignificant step which he despised.

So he made some new...friends.

Speaking of them, where's Italy and Germany now?

Japan knows that his fair weather friends are in a no better position than he is currently.

Losers never are.

Japan enjoyed their company, but he never was able to get far past the ditzy "Ve~" noise Italy always makes, or Germany's stern face and subtle concern.

He doubts that they know further than the usual things either, that he is polite, reserved, and understanding.

Is he though? Japan doesn't know anymore, since the fine line between outer mask and inner thoughts has already blurred and vanished for him. Every day he lives with an emotional mess burdening his shoulders while he's busy with giving retributions.

There is no time for the three of them to gather and lament their predicaments.

Few friendships ever last. Few bonds ever remain.

 _(But didn't he himself push them away? Aniue-_ niisan _-, imouto, otouto...)_

Japan believed that bonds would make him weak and prone to irrational judgements. It was a fact that became more and more clear to him, especially after the several incidents during the turn of the century.

Maybe it is so, but Japan never thought of how it would be right now, nothing remaining from half a century of blood and tears and pain.

Everything turns out to be futile, only leaving Japan to dwell in his mind, drowning in guilt and regret.

What else does he do anyway, except for this?

In a fit of arbitrary madness, Japan tears off the bandages around his head, ignoring the throbbing pain that comes with the rough handling. He'd need a change of new bandages anyway.

He technically should be preparing for the meeting with China later, when Japan would return Taiwan to him, but suddenly...he just feels that he doesn't give a damn.

The photograph...where is it...

Japan reaches for the wastebasket, tossing aside crumpled paper after paper until he rummages through to the very bottom, where he pulls out a slightly wrinkled and half-torn photo.

It is mostly intact, and that is all he needs to know.

The sight of the photograph immediately stops him in his movements, and Japan stares, holding the ripped parts together and taking in every detail that he never thought he'd see again.

Japan ripped this paper the very moment he returned home from Nanking, as the very sight of it made him want to scream. And it was sitting right on his desk too, the last memory of his family which he decided to discard of on that day.

It's a photograph of their family, old and faded but still very much clear.

The wetness in his eyes is unprecedented, and Japan quickly blinks the tears away as he touches the paper gingerly, careful not to rip it any further. Crying or breaking down would do him no good either. He needs to present a good image. A good image.

But Japan is unable to refrain from giving the paper another look.

Thailand and Vietnam stand side by side, the latter with a rare smile on her face. Macau and Hong Kong, being the younger ones, are sitting on China's lap, while Japan stands at his side as the oldest. Korea is doing another ridiculous pose from his seat on the ground beside a grinning Taiwan.

Everyone is smiling. Everyone looks so _happy_.

Japan gives it another hard stare, blinking back the tears threatening to pool at his eyes, and proceeds to stiffly press his mouth to the photograph as he'd seen some people do before.

Suddenly, he thinks that he knows what he wants now.

"Thank you," Japan says, voice barely a whisper as he places the paper down on the desk and heads out.

 

(He wonders though...when had it all changed?)

 

 


End file.
